grief

The Heart Knows

Posted by Barbara Techel

Thank you to everyone who has reached out to me with cards sent, via email or Facebook and your kind and sweet support and the loss of Gidget. Just as the heart trepidly walks with grief, sometimes receiving an outpouring of love and support can feel overwhelming too. But I realized a lesson in this and that I must simply take in what I can at the moment and return again when I feel called to.

I want to share this special double heart memorial marker with you. It’s in my garden outside my writing cottage. When I open the blinds in my bedroom each morning and when I sit at my writing desk I can see it.

Some of you may remember that two years ago I scattered the ashes of my two previous doxie’s Frankie and Joie around my writing cottage. Gidget now rests here too.

On Mother’s Day morning I walked out to my garden to be with her. I felt called to gather some rocks and form the shape of a heart in honor of my love for her. Just as I placed the last rock at the bottom of the heart, a small rock off to the side caught my eye. It was in the shape of a heart.

I smiled through my tears. Little Gidget already sending me a sign of love right back to me… and so I placed her heart within mine. Though honestly, I feel like the big heart is more representative of her.

There are many ways in which one nurtures and for a good part of my life, I’ve struggled with why I never felt called to have children of my own.

The core reason why has been revealing itself to me since 2015 and stems from a personal childhood wounding. A week before Mother’s Day and the passing of Gidget, it was like another window to my soul opened and I deeply felt the truth of why and I had to be with all I was feeling.  

As many of you also know, I’ve been working on my third memoir, I’m Fine Just the Way I Am. This book will share that journey of facing that inner core wound and working my way through it. At the heart of it was my dear Gidget guiding me and holding the most loving space for me.

For the most part, the writing of the book is done. I’ve received feedback from three beta readers which I’ll use to tweak the manuscript. I also realized two days ago that there will be an afterword. I’m not quite ready to write that yet as I need to give myself time to process the loss of Gidget.

But I do know and understand now that if I’d had children I’d not experienced what I have in my life and for that I’m grateful. And I know that this was the path I was meant to walk.

I also remember how I was feeling trepidation about sharing the news of Gidget’s passing as I didn’t want other’s who cared for her to feel sad. But just like I shared the joy of her, the grief must come with it too. Grief is something we all have in common – none of us escape it.

Then just this morning I received this note from a wise friend:

Not only are you feeling your sweet friend but you are assisting others to feel and release their grief. And that is what a catalyst does. Part of your work here is to help others with theirs. It’s not always easy, as you very well know, but it is your path.

I deeply felt the truth of this.

And so with Gidget’s heart a part of mine always, I journey on…

XO,

Barbara

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In Memory and Celebration of My Girl Gidget

Posted by Barbara Techel

I adore this photo of Gidget.

Her wise, amazing, sweet, loving, endearing self—it oozes the very essence of who she is. At first, I wrote was, but then felt called to change it because it is who she is, in life and in death.

On Saturday, May 11th, the day before Mother’s Day, we had to say goodbye to her. How could such a tiny dog leave such a big empty space? My heart hurts immensely right now, but I know that this profound and difficult pain came with the privilege of loving her too.

I had noted signs of her slowing down of late, but nothing that felt out of the ordinary, until her breathing wasn’t right. We learned she had congestive heart failure.

She was in my lap as I gently stroked her back and the top of her sweet little head, expressing to her my depth of love for her— thanking  her for being my friend— and for her devotion and patience with me— especially in the last year, as I learned to give voice to a personal childhood wounding.  John sat beside us, caressing her also, and telling her what a good dog she is and that he loved her, too.

When I knew I had to let her go, I heard these lyrics pop into my head, “We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.” A song by Terry Jacks from 1974 called, Seasons in the Sun. I smiled through my tears. It was Gidget letting me know it was all okay no matter what.

To feel a precious life come to an end in ones arms cracks the heart wide open. The primal depth of sorrow I feel for her loss is something I felt no shame in expressing as I held her still body in my arms.

As I slowly drove home I realized that since 1984 we’ve had a pet. There hasn’t been a day in all those years that we’ve been without at least one to come home to. It’s an unfamiliar space I’m trying to embrace now and have found myself wondering about without purpose. But that’s okay.

Yesterday, I felt called to search for a book to support me. I was led to, The Wild Edge of Sorrow by Francis Weller. So much of what I’ve already read has spoken so eloquently to what I’m feeling. I share this passage:

For the most part, grief is not a problem to be solved, not a condition to be medicated, but a deep encounter with an essential experience of being human.

Though my heart aches I understand that I must feel all of what this is.

Just like Gidget taught me to follow the threads to heal last year, I do that now as I grieve the loss of her while balancing the precious memories within each sacred moment.

I awoke at 2 am today and knew I wanted to write about her and share the news of her passing with you. A part of me continues to want to be alone, but another part of me felt called to be open to the support that will come my way.

What will I remember most about Gidget? So much…

  • Her personality which was a mix of being larger than life, a calming presence, spontaneous moments of silliness, a soul wise beyond her years, and a cuddle bug.
  • How she loved to lie like a baby on her back snuggled in my arms. It was our routine almost every single day at 4 pm.
  • How she loved to lie in the crook of my legs, her front legs half-bent, back legs splayed out to the sides, eyes closed, ears up, and a smile that ran across her face as I rubbed her belly.
  • Walks in her stroller and how often she was the epitome of a princess out on a ride in her chariot, taking in the beauty of the land around her.
  • How she loved cuddle time in bed with John, resting in the crook of his arm. How he’d gently blow on her face and she’d lick his face wildly.
  • Playing “Where’s Gidget?” with her. This was where I’d curl up on the floor in a ball and leave the crook of my arm open just enough that when I called, “Where’s Gidget” she’d burrow with gusto into the opening and excitedly lick my face. How I laughed when after only five minutes she was done and would have this look on her face as if she could no longer be bothered with that silly play.

There are so many more memories and they are of comfort as I move through this complex and contemplative time.

The one thing that will stay with me forever, and one I hold the deepest gratitude for, is how Gidget held an incredible amount of patience and loving space for me.

It’s the gift she gave me and that I must now hold this space for myself.

It’s time to care for me for a while now and spend more time with John. I’ve felt this coming for some time and that Gidget is my last special needs dog I will care for.  

I’ve had to feel into this every step of the way and know that this is okay— even though what I’m experiencing feels incredibly uncomfortable, along with this uncertainty that looms in front of me.

Gidget helped me to see that feeling my way through it all is my best and truest compass. This is what will lead me as I continue to move forward. How do I ever thank her for that?

By trusting this path she opened for me and following it with conscious allowing and curiosity.

I leave you with this passage from The Wild Edge of Sorrow:

Grief is not here to take us hostage, but instead to reshape us in some fundamental way, to help us become our mature selves, capable of living in the creative tension between grief and gratitude.

And so this is what I am doing my best to be with as the waves of sorrow mixed with gratefulness wash through me.

This is the way in which I can best honor Gidget and heal on yet another level of knowing, I’m fine just the way I am.

XO,

Barbara

 

Embrace your grief, for there your soul will grow. ~Carl Jung

Life Renewing Itself. Miss Marie’s Snowdrops.

Posted by Barbara Techel

Life Renewing Itself. Miss Marie's Snowdrops.

We’ve had some warm days in-between some chilly ones. I’ve taken full advantage of the warm ones. I pulled Gidget’s dog stroller out of the corner of the garage and we’ve been strolling through our quaint village when we can.

Whenever I drive into town, I drive by Miss Marie’s home. There is no other way around it really, as it is part of our small downtown. It’s hard to see it so quiet and closed up. Though there is a tenant living upstairs yet. But it’s sometimes a jolt to know Miss Marie will never again walk down the steps of her back porch, nor will I see her in her oilcloth apron, or hear her one-of-a-kind laugh.

It’s been one month since she died. It kind of amazes me that this much time has passed already.

I’d been avoiding walking on the sidewalk next to her house. Instead, I’d stand across the street and take a few moments staring at her home wishing she’d still be there.

But the other day I decided to walk by. She never really had a lawn. Instead, the yard is landscaped with many plants and shrubs growing wildly. This time of year with winter now on its way out, everything is still in its dormant stage. But underneath I’ve no doubt there is life just waiting to burst forth.

As I rounded the corner to walk past the front of her home –  her home is on a corner lot – there among the plants that lie still without visible life yet, was this small patch of snowdrop flowers.

I know Miss Marie’s soul lives on. I just can’t see it. I can’t tell you how often I hear “Miss Barbara” in my mind as I’m thinking about things we talked about or making decisions I need to make.

When I saw these sweet snowdrops I couldn’t help but think how life continually renews itself.

Some of the common meanings for the snowdrop flowers are purity, hope, rebirth and consolation or sympathy.

Miss Marie may not be here physically, but her spirit lives on in so many of the lives she touched. Her life is renewed in a new way, as is mine as I open to connecting with her in a different way now. And her home that will come to life again someday with new residents I’m sure.

But for now, it feels like such sacred ground as I continue to honor the gift of Miss Marie and all she brought me in my life.

XO,

Barbara

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